


Enlightenment

by Luthien



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bystander POV, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-24
Updated: 2006-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Three representatives from Atlantis and three only for this negotiation, those had been the Rengarians' terms." On what should have been a routine mission, Elizabeth is reminded that people are unpredictable and things are not always what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enlightenment

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set early in Season 3.

It's a moment out of time.

For a second or two, nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Then Elizabeth forces herself to loosen her death grip on the door frame, trying to dislodge the frozen calm that seized her almost as soon as she opened the door, almost before she had a chance to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

"You can put that down now, Colonel, if you don't mind." Her voice keeps steady, just, though to achieve it she is forced to draw on the combined strength of all her years of experience negotiating with everyone from supposedly friendly supposed allies to shady and unexpectedly charming military dictators. It's not something she has to do often, even in the Pegasus Galaxy. But then, no one has ever pointed a gun straight at her in any of those meetings. Not the instant she came in through the door, anyway. None but the Genii.

And none of those who preferred armed diplomacy was ever someone who was more than an ally, someone who was supposed to be one of her own.

Two someones. Two of her own.

She doesn't take her eyes off them, and he doesn't take his eyes off her. They're all frozen, as though this scene has been as artfully designed as a tableau: Elizabeth standing in the doorway feeling as though she is poised between one reality and another, not daring to move and so upset the delicate balance, or at least not daring to move while John is lying on the bed, propped up on one elbow but still half under the blankets, gun steady in his hands. Even shirtless, he's an intimidating sight: Elizabeth can see nothing of the everyday John in his face, in his eyes. He's all soldier, defending against an unexpected intruder. On the other side of him, Rodney, equally shirtless, holds a hand over his face and makes a pained choking noise. He hasn't looked at her at all, and Elizabeth isn't sure that he's even registered that there's anyone else in the room with them yet.

Finally, finally, after a handful of endless seconds, John lowers his gun. Elizabeth draws in a deep breath and lets it out again, long and slow, while Rodney flops down on the bed, and moans into the pillow: "God, that hurt."

"Elizabeth," says John, as he sets the gun down on the nightstand, safely out of harm's way but still well within arm's reach, and hauls himself up in bed so that he ends up sitting propped against the headboard. "Elizabeth I-"

"I'm sorry I- They told me this was the room they'd set aside for me. There must have been some mistake." The words come easily, automatically to her lips, her skills coming to her rescue just as they do in any other tense situation; the language of diplomacy is full of understatement. At this point in her career Elizabeth is armed with an understatement for every conceivable occasion. And, since coming to Atlantis, for most inconceivable occasions, too.

"Elizabeth?" It's Rodney's turn to sit up now, his hand going automatically to the side of his face again as soon as he does so. "What are you doing here? Is everything..." His voice trails off and his eyes dart anxiously from her to John then to himself, beside John in the bed, and then back to her again. "This isn't what it looks like!" he says. Rodney is a terrible liar; his face, his voice, his stiff, defensive posture, even his skin, rapidly flushing now, give him away at every turn. He looks at her, round-eyed with distress, broadcasting every detail of what he's feeling right now. Elizabeth almost smiles. He'll never be any sort of diplomat. Not like Elizabeth.

She doesn't reply. Instead, she asks, "John?" Her voice is as steady as ever, careful and controlled, businesslike, even, as though they're all in one of their regular meetings back in Atlantis and she's asking for his input.

John isn't much of a diplomat either. He doesn't think he's giving much away, she's sure, but the tension in his shoulders, the hard, closed-off look in his eyes, the utter lack of anything laid back or relaxed about him, screams the answer at her before he says a word.

He shrugs, and smiles a humourless half-smile at her. "You saw."

"I saw," Elizabeth agrees, catching his gaze and holding it. He returns her look, stare for stare, unwavering. It's only when she looks away that she realises she's still standing in the doorway, holding on to the doorframe for dear life. She forces her hand down to her side. She doesn't usually give herself away anything like this badly. She blames it on the shock of finding herself on the wrong end of John's gun. "I'd better go find one of the priests, sort out the problem. My room's probably next door to this one and I just misunderstood the directions they gave me," she says.

"Elizabeth," John says again, flinging back the covers and getting out of bed. She's relieved, though also a little disappointed, to find that he's still wearing his uniform pants. "I'm really sorry," he says, and his voice and face are abruptly softer and friendlier than seemed possible a moment ago, matching his words in apology. "About that," he adds, and nods towards the gun on the nightstand, as though he feels the need to clarify. "I'm always on the alert when we're off-world. You know I have to be. When anything unexpected happens, I go into action. It's just automatic."

"Of course I understand," she says, and forces a tight smile. He wasn't so alert that it stopped him from doing what he was doing when the door opened, though, before he sprang into action and reached for the gun.

"Well, I don't understand," Rodney breaks in, sounding aggrieved. "Did you really have to move that fast? And did you know before that the top of your head was that hard? All that hair didn't do much of a job of cushioning the blow. I think you might have broken my nose. I'll probably be disfigured for life!" He rubs his nose ostentatiously. Elizabeth wonders if it's a ploy to cover up his discomfort with the whole situation, or if it's simply Rodney being Rodney.

"I didn't hear you complaining when I did the exact same thing on M7X-652," says John.

"That's because you _didn't_ do the exact same thing on M7X-652," Rodney says. "You were able to play the hero without doing me serious injury that time, if you can manage to remember something that happened three whole weeks ago."

"I didn't do you serious injury this time, either. Believe me, if I had, you wouldn't be sitting there wondering if your nose _might_ be broken."

It's odd--almost surreal--to hear them squabble much the same as they always do, as though everything hasn't changed irrevocably. But then, perhaps it hasn't. It's Elizabeth's reality that's shifted sideways without warning.

"I'll go find one of the priests," she says again. They're still bickering as she turns and leaves, but she imagines that she feels their eyes on her back as the door closes behind her.

It's not all that far from the guest quarters to the central chamber of the temple, but the gentle curve of the hallway makes the journey seem longer, since it's impossible to see her destination until she's almost upon it. The hallway is lined here and there with torches, flickering in their sconces, incongruous against the gleaming metal of the walls that reminds Elizabeth too much of Atlantis to be coincidence. It's Ancient work, this temple--its original purpose clearly something quite different - but long abandoned by its makers, perhaps far longer than Atlantis. They haven't been able to find a single reference to it in the Ancient database. It's far deader than Atlantis ever was, too. The hallways do not light up in response to human footsteps, not even to John's, hence the need for more basic forms of lighting. Whatever power source it once possessed is gone, or slumbering just as deeply as the rest of the place. So Rodney had concluded during what should have been the team's first and last visit to Rengar. So he had thought, at least until just before the puddlejumper departed through the orbital gate above the planet, when their sensors picked up indications of some sort of activity, the glimmer of an energy source that wasn't powered by water or steam, like everything else on the planet.

And so, at Rodney's insistence the team had gone back to the planet to meet with the inhabitants, not once but half a dozen times over the last few months. The locals were--and are--friendly, once they determined that Atlantis was interested in alliance rather than conquest. Now they even have a treaty to prove it. Elizabeth knows it's been driving Rodney mad that, regardless of the treaty, regardless of all the extra fresh potatoes--some sort of starchy, lumpy tuber, anyway, easier to call them potatoes--the treaty has added to the messhall menu, they've still gotten no closer to discovering the source of the power readings that brought them back here in the first place. In accordance with the treaty, each official visit has required participation in a different ritual and in return allowed them access to a different section of the temple. Each time, they've played their part; each time, the temple has yielded up nothing but frustration.

Until this time. Until they gained admittance to the temple's treasury. Here, at last, they got to see something other than ancient--but not Ancient--parchments and useless, eroded consoles. Here, there were artefacts of the sort that come to light every time they explore another part of Atlantis, though the only other thing they have in common is that every one is different. It was almost enough to reconcile Rodney to having to "waste yet another night on that damned planet." Almost.

Of course there's no telling what any of the artefacts were designed to do, or even if any of them still work. Not without a proper power source, which is, of course, the point of the whole exercise. Rodney wanted to take a few of the artefacts back to Atlantis, to his lab, to his precious ZPM. Of course he did. And of course the Rengarians pointed out that taking away holy relics wasn't exactly something covered in the treaty. Rodney's hardly the best person to be involved in such a potentially delicate negotiation. Even he knows that. And John... John thinks he's a better diplomat than he is. They can be a dangerous combination at times.

Elizabeth rubs a hand over her eyes.

Mostly they work well together, they complement each other.

Elizabeth stops in the corridor for a moment, and sighs.

At least Teyla had the sense to recognise that the changed circumstances called for a negotiator with Elizabeth's skills, which is how Elizabeth came to be here, now, in a situation that combines the terribly familiar and the completely unanticipated in equal measure. Teyla's always been a steadying influence on the team, grounding them when common sense is in otherwise short supply. If Teyla were here, now, it's entirely possible that Elizabeth may not have been confronted with quite so many completely unanticipated circumstances during this mission. But Teyla's not here. She's back in Atlantis, with Ronon and Lorne and half a dozen others that, in ideal circumstances, Elizabeth would choose to have with her, here and now.

Three representatives from Atlantis and three only for this negotiation, those had been the Rengarians' terms. Elizabeth made one of the three, obviously; her presence was the whole point of proceeding with the negotiations, after all. Rodney made another, just as obviously; there was little point to all of Elizabeth's efforts if Rodney was not on hand to make sense of whatever Ancient technology all those rounds of hard bargaining finally brought them to. It wasn't obvious that John should be the third member of their delegation--and yet somehow it was. It didn't matter how good or how capable Lorne or Teyla or Ronon or any of the others were, there was never any question that John would let Elizabeth and Rodney go off to that planet without him. They made quite a team, the three of them. They might kid around and bicker and even have real disagreements between themselves, but they presented a united public front. These days, Doctor Weir enjoyed the full and unquestioning support of both Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay. They pulled together in time of crisis - in _frequent_ time of crisis - and all the rest of Atlantis pulled along with them. In Elizabeth's lighter moments, she liked to think of them almost as the Three Musketeers, or even as a triumvirate. But even the Three Musketeers hadn't been all the same. Athos always stood a little separate from Porthos and Aramis, however much he might have wished it differently. And Elizabeth had it drummed into her long ago that no triumvirate is ever truly equal. There has to be an apex, balanced out by the two other corners. She's known that, known that she has to be the apex, but she's never understood quite how separate that makes her before. She's known she has to be separate, but somehow she hadn't equated that with the other two being... not separate.

Stupid of her, really.

Here and now, nothing is ideal and nothing is anticipated. She's on her own.

She's getting used to it. She keeps telling herself that.

When she reaches the central chamber, Elizabeth finds several priests at prayer, almost identical from behind with their shaved heads and muddy brown robes. One looks around at the sound of her step, and Elizabeth is relieved to see the familiar face of Brother Prakosh, the Venerable Father's Right Hand, who gave her a guided tour of the public areas of the vast temple complex earlier in the day before sitting in on the opening rounds of negotiations. Right Hand is one of his official titles; Smoother of the Path is another. Elizabeth is almost sure it's not intended to be ironic. The two of them have butted heads more than once today: at the time, she relished the challenge. Right now, though, she's just glad she's found him. If anyone can fix the current situation--well, fix the accommodations--it's Prakosh.

She draws him aside into a small alcove, far enough away from the altar so as not to disturb the meditating priests, and explains the problem.

"I feel sure that I must have misunderstood the directions I was given, so if you would be so kind as to help me find my own room...?" she concludes.

Prakosh frowns in concern. "But there is no mistake, Doctor Weir. As Father Gendrid explained this afternoon, the temple is a holy place dedicated to the Ancestors. We live here, serving their memory in brotherly accord, as one united family, and we celebrate the annual rituals of the holy calendar each in its turn."

"Yes, he did explain that," says Elizabeth, smiling politely. "But I don't quite see what that has to do with where I will be sleeping tonight."

Prakosh's frown deepens. "But I understood that you came here to take part in the Festival of Enlightenment, to celebrate the unbreakable bonds of family with us."

"Yes," Elizabeth says again, letting a little of her confusion show on her face. "We did that this evening, when we joined you in the prayer and the feast."

Prakosh is shaking his head now. "No, no. That is only the formal part of the ritual. The proper observance extends beyond the ceremony and the group thanksgiving. The Festival of Enlightenment provides an opportunity to reflect upon and test family ties in practice."

"I didn't realise that," Elizabeth says carefully, and then decides that she's going to be here half the night if the conversation continues along its current careful path. There are times for diplomacy, and then there are times for plain speaking--particularly when it's been a long day already. She cuts to the chase: "What exactly does putting it into practice entail?"

"We thought that you understood already what is involved, after these many months of fruitful exchanges between our peoples. That that was why you yourself accompanied Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay most especially for this festival, that you undertook this visit as the official representatives of your people."

"We are the official representatives of Atlantis, yes, and it's true that we have benefited greatly from the connection that has been forged between our peoples," Elizabeth agrees, smiling as she grits her teeth. Then again, diplomacy has its uses when the terrain shifts unexpectedly beneath your feet, and it's been doing that to her a lot in the last ten minutes, enough to qualify as her own little personal earthquake. She'd like to avoid any more aftershocks if at all possible.

Prakosh nods, looking a little relieved. "So you understand that to us a community, a people who live in peace together, in... fraternity, is simply an extension of the family. This temple is dedicated to the Ancestors, and all of us, the family of humanity, are their issue. It is that family connection, both the great links and the small, that the Festival of Enlightenment celebrates. During the Festival, none here may abide alone, isolated from family, including those from outside who choose to gift us with their presence. I'm sure you will agree that close proximity provides the opportunity for communication and understanding, through which family bonds may strengthen and grow."

"So you're saying that everyone who stays here has to be part of a family group, and that since you consider individual communities basically as extended family groups, the official representatives of those communities...?" Elizabeth lets the statement trail off into a question, though it isn't, really.

Prakosh positively beams at her, like he's the teacher and one of the slower members of his class has suddenly turned out to be the star pupil. "Exactly." His smile fades. "There is no problem about the three of you sharing one room for the night? This requirement is in keeping with our most basic tenets, and we assumed that after all these months you had come to know something of our teachings--that you were, in fact, interested." He clasps his hands together in front of his chest. "Those who request to visit the temple are usually well-versed in our beliefs," he adds blandly.

Elizabeth has no trouble translating "usually" into "always". She smiles politely. "We didn't fully understand, as it happens, but no, there is no real problem. It simply wasn't what we were expecting, since there has been no such requirement before. Only..." She tries to remember the contents of the room, what furniture there might have been in there, but really it's all a blur apart from John and Rodney and the gun. "We're not expected to share the same bed, are we?"

"The room contains two large sleeping pallets, enough to sleep four adults," Prakosh says, his brows creasing in a frown. "If it were possible, I would, of course, procure a third bed for you at once, or move you all to a larger room, but many choose to visit the temple for this festival--as you saw for yourself during the feast - and all the guest quarters of the temple are in use tonight."

"No room at the inn," Elizabeth murmurs, then adds more loudly, before Prakosh can do more than look at her quizzically, "Two large beds will be perfectly adequate to our needs." She smiles yet again. "Thank you very much for your assistance."

"It is my duty and my pleasure, Doctor Weir." Prakosh bows his head formally.

Elizabeth bows in return and bids him good night. She doesn't sigh as she makes her way back to the room, but she also doesn't smile.

This time, when she arrives outside the door, she makes a point of knocking. Loudly. The door opens so quickly that she suspects Rodney must have been waiting right by it. This time, the scene that meets her eyes is... well, it's what she should have seen before. This time, both of them are fully clothed and there's more than half a room between them; John's sitting on the side of the bed checking through the contents of his pack. Also, this time Elizabeth notices the second bed, tucked in the corner behind the door, with two more packs lying side by side in the middle of it.

Rodney's looking at her, mouth quirked in a way that suggests he may just launch into a series of disjointed reassurances and disconcerting confidences if she looks him in the eye for longer than half a second--so she looks at John instead. John's looking at her, too, looking up now from counting his ammunition, or whatever it is that military officers do in situations such as this, features schooled into something approaching a carefully blank expression. Because this is John, though, the professional soldier mask doesn't sit quite smoothly in place. There's a suggestion of wary insolence about him that reminds her of how he was early on in their dealings, before he'd learned to respect the proper boundaries between her authority and his.

"Well, it looks like there was a bigger misunderstanding going on than we thought," she begins brightly.

By the time she's finished relating the gist of her conversation with Prakosh, John and Rodney are both still looking at her, but the atmosphere in the room has altered considerably.

"They believe _what_?" says Rodney, grimacing.

"As I said," says Elizabeth. "For the time we're here we are, effectively, a family. Since there's nowhere else for us to stay, even if the Brothers were willing to house us separately, and since this isn't anything like a good enough reason to turn around and go home without doing what we came here for, the three of us will be sharing this room tonight."

"We're really gonna have to stop walking straight into this sort of thing," John observes, frowning, but sounding resigned.

"Sometimes I wish I'd pushed harder for Doctor Jackson to join the expedition," Elizabeth agrees. "Perhaps on his next trip-"

"Elizabeth, please. It's not like even a real anthropologist was going to be much use in anticipating this situation," Rodney says, rolling his eyes, "unless they could somehow have known to ask the Rengarians in advance if they happened to have a different working definition of "family" from that used by every other people in two galaxies, and one that they only put into practice once a year, at that."

"Well, actually," begins Elizabeth, dredging up a few half-remembered details about the structure of certain indigenous communities on Earth.

But Rodney isn't listening to her, and ploughs on: "If Doctor Jackson were here, it would only mean that we'd be having to share two beds between four instead of-" He stops, his pale skin flushing unattractively red. He looks down at his pack on the bed beside him for a moment, fidgeting with the flap of one of the pockets before he clears his throat and continues: "Anyway, no point standing around chatting. We should get some sleep. It's going to be a busy day tomorrow once I finally get my hands on some of those devices they've been hoarding. Who knows what they were made for! If I can actually get some of them working they might trigger some sort of response from the power source. There has to be _something_ Ancient still working on this planet, at least intermittently, to be giving off those energy readings. It could be a low-powered ZPM, or something like it. Maybe something rechargeable! And unlike these idiots we--well, _I_ \- may well be able to-"

"Rodney," John says, a breath ahead of Elizabeth.

There's no need to say anything more. That single word is enough to stem the flow. Rodney goes silent and the hand on his pack stills. "Yes. Okay. Right. I'll be in the bathroom," he says, grabbing the pack with both hands and shouldering his way through the dark green curtain against the far wall. A moment later, Elizabeth hears a thud, followed by the sound of pouring water.

It's almost a relief to be free of Rodney's twitchy presence. It would be a relief, if not for the fact that his absence leaves Elizabeth alone in the room with John.

She doesn't know what to say. The room is large and bare of decoration and all but the most utilitarian of furniture. Several large, plain branches of candles have been placed strategically throughout the room, though their light still doesn't quite reach into the corners. Now that the empty spaces are no longer being filled up with conversation, Elizabeth's uncomfortably aware of the here and now, of the silence and shadows that fill the room, too-aware of how unsettled she is.

John isn't showing any sign of noticing the silence. He isn't showing any sign of noticing anything at all. Finally, he finishes with his pack and puts it down carefully on the floor. Elizabeth straightens, ready for a look, or a word, but instead John lays out his vest on the bed in front of him and starts methodically checking through the contents of each pocket.

The sight of him shouldn't unsettle her so. John looks very much as he always looks, wearing one of his usual black tee-shirts now, and doing something perfectly ordinary and unremarkable, but when she looks at him that's not what Elizabeth sees. The gun is still lying on the nightstand, still within easy reach. The memory of John in the bed, bare-chested as he aimed that gun at her, overlays everything. It's an image she won't forget, for all sorts of reasons.

"You don't mind sharing a bed with Rodney for tonight, then?" She's surprised at hearing herself speak, not least because her voice sounds so self-assured and normal, the perfect mix of polite interest and cool professionalism, and not at all as though the question she's blurting out is awkward and self-evident, and almost intrusive.

John looks up from what he's doing, surprised. Whatever he was expecting her to say next, it wasn't that.

"We usually end up sharing quarters when we're off-world overnight." He shrugs like it's no big deal, like it doesn't mean anything - like she didn't see anything. Like he's daring her to say something.

She's not going to rise to his bait. Now isn't the right time, and here definitely isn't the right place--assuming that she intends to say anything at all, of course. She's still not sure that she will. What did she really see, after all?

Elizabeth doesn't approve of self-deception, so she's already answering that question by the time she finishes thinking it. She knows exactly what it was she saw.

A loud gurgling sounds from behind the curtain, followed by the splashing of water. A moment later, Rodney steps back into the room, looking a touch apprehensive.

"Ladies first," says John, gesturing towards the curtain with a flourish, and Rodney's slightly nervous look changes to one of consternation. It's clear this is the first time Rodney's considered that maybe the gentlemanly thing would have been to offer to let Elizabeth use the bathroom first. Elizabeth isn't remotely surprised. Rodney's always been largely oblivious of the fact that she's female; it's one of the things Elizabeth likes most about him, at least when it comes to their dealings in their official capacities--which is pretty much all of their dealings, to a greater or lesser extent.

"The facilities aren't exactly five star but they're adequate enough for one night," Rodney assures her.

Elizabeth opens her mouth to reply with some light conversational nothing, but Rodney is already looking over at John, sharing a look that's hard to decipher. They're not supposed to do that. Their unspoken communication is supposed to be limited to annoyed and annoying looks as open and obvious as their habitual sniping banter.

She beats a hasty retreat before either of them has a chance to say anything more.

The bathroom is small and cramped, as though tacked on to the too-roomy bedroom as an afterthought. Like the main room, there's nothing lavish about the bathroom. It caters to the most basic needs and nothing more. The fixtures are not quite like anything she's seen before, the same strange mixture of Ancient and archaic that is evident in every other part of the temple complex, but it's fairly easy to work out what is what. Something that looks remarkably like an old-fashioned hip bath stands empty in the corner. It's been too long since Elizabeth last had the opportunity to relax in a bath of any sort, and, as with certain other things, here and now is hardly the appropriate time for it. As with certain other things, she does what she has to rather than what she'd like to, and turns her attention away from the bath. A shelf runs along the opposite wall. In the centre of it is a large ewer and matching basin, with a pile of towels on one side and on the other a branch of lit candles, identical to the ones in the other room.

Elizabeth gets through her ablutions quickly, changes clothes--daytime clothes rather than nightclothes, on John's advice "just in case"--and, last of all, brushes her hair until it shines. She counts the strokes of the brush one by one, just as she's done every night for as long as she can remember, ever since she was a tiny girl, sitting by Granny's chair, watching as Granny pulled the hairpins from her unfashionable bun and let her hair fall down her back, iron-grey and heavy. Granny was tall, for an old lady, and held herself ramrod straight. Granny was strong and no-nonsense, the mother of four children, all of whom turned out level-headed and prosperous, who'd somehow forged a successful journalism career for herself as well starting from a weekly advice column for the local newspaper when her kids were small. And Granny brushed her hair a hundred times every night before bed, so Elizabeth did, too--Elizabeth _does_, too.

It's a daily ritual, and a small comfort, a minor self-indulgence she allows herself, one of the thousand tiny threads that enable her to remain tightly stitched together under any strain when almost anyone else in the same position would be falling apart at the seams. The exclusive hairstylist she used to patronise back in Washington would murmur about the well-known damaging effects of over-brushing. Elizabeth thought of Granny and all her achievements, and smiled a diplomat's smile in the mirror at the hairdresser.

As she brushes now, Elizabeth looks hard at her reflection, noting the lines here and there, the slight shadow under her eyes speaking of the long day she's had and the need for sleep. Apart from that, everything looks as it should, her eyes just the same as they've always been, her hair falling into place around the sides of her face, her mouth the same firm, determined line it always is. She's still the same Elizabeth, even if her surroundings are far beyond anything she once could have anticipated, even if too many things around her have turned out to be something other than what she thought they were.

Her count is almost seventy when she hears the murmur of voices, low and urgent, on the other side of the curtain. There are other sounds, short and sharp, a flurry of movement, and then there's silence again.

When she reaches the hundredth stroke she sets down her brush and takes one last good hard look at herself in the mirror. She still looks like the same Elizabeth she's always been. She has the look of a decent person, a trustworthy person. The evidence of her own eyes, and of all those years of successful negotiations, can't be wrong.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turns away from the mirror and steps back through the curtain.

John is standing near the bathroom door, arms folded across his chest, his back to Rodney, who is sitting on the far side of the--their--bed, hunched over his ever-present tablet.

"All yours," Elizabeth says to John with a quick smile.

"Thanks," he says, mouth not tilting up into the ghost of a smile in return, eyes not sparkling with wry humour at the situation they've found themselves in, and he disappears behind the curtain in turn.

Rodney mutters, "Oh, what? That can't be-" He twists around, drawing his legs up onto the bed and pulling the pillow across from the other side of the bed so that both are piled behind him. Leaning back, he balances the tablet against his bent knees, and starts waving the stylus around furiously. He doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge her presence, all his attention on the task at hand, just as John's was before, but somehow it's easier being alone in here with Rodney than it was with John, perhaps because Rodney's attention truly is on something else.

Elizabeth pulls her PDA out of her pack, then gets into bed and starts re-reading the background report on the Rengarians and their temple. The report might have proven to be conspicuously lacking in information on certain key points about their philosophy in light of Prakosh's revelations tonight, but it's still worth taking mental note of details that could have previously unanticipated implications for the successful outcome of their visit, and soon Elizabeth is immersed in the official history of the Festival of Enlightenment.

She looks up once. The artificial light from Rodney's tablet screen lights up his face. He seems barely recognisable for a moment, a stranger with odd, angular features, but then he frowns, muttering under his breath, and he's Rodney again.

He's still frowning when John emerges from the bathroom, damp hair sticking out in various unlikely directions. John stands by the bed for a moment but it's only when he sits down on the bed that at last Rodney looks up from his tablet.

"Any luck?" says John, nodding towards the screen.

Rodney makes an impatient sound. "While trusting to blind luck may be your preferred modus operandi, Colonel, the world of science operates according to a series of defined rules."

"Okay," says John. "So, found any _rules_?"

"Well... No, actually," Rodney admits. "There's no rhyme or reason to the sequence of power surges the equipment's detected while we've been here this time."

"Sounds like a loose wire to me."

"In your expert opinion," Rodney says witheringly. "Have you forgotten that Ancient equipment doesn't _have_ any wires?"

John shrugs. "Just a thought."

"Which would be why they pay me to do the thinking about the important things around here."

"Yes, I can see that," John says with a faint smile.

"Oh, shut up." Rodney scowls ferociously at John and then at the screen. "It's just the same as every other time we've been here. There's no discernable cause, no pattern."

"You'll figure it out." John's smile grows broader, fonder.

"Of course I will. Tomorrow, with any luck." Rodney's attention is still on the tablet screen.

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

Rodney huffs, and gives John a long, steady look. "Not when it comes to science. But when it comes to negotiating with a bunch of religious fanatics? Luck is all we have."

"Diplomacy has its own rules, Rodney," Elizabeth says, breaking in at last.

Rodney and John both turn to stare at her. As difficult as it is to believe, given all the tension and awkwardness between them all since the instant she first opened the door, she thinks that for a moment they may just have forgotten that they weren't alone.

"We have luck and we have Elizabeth's skills as a negotiator on our side. How can we lose?" John says lightly, but his grin is a little too obviously forced.

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?" Rodney asks. Then, clearly realising the implication of his words, he shoots an apologetic glance at Elizabeth. "Er, though I'm sure that if _anyone_ has the ability to talk our gracious hosts into handing over those artefacts and make sure things finally turn out differently this time, it's you, Elizabeth."

"That's why I'm here," says Elizabeth. "To make the difference."

And the conversation grinds to a halt, just like that. They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment. Elizabeth is here, and that makes all the difference.

She clears her throat. "Well, if I'm going to do my job effectively in the morning, I'm going to need to get some sleep. Are you done, Rodney?" she asks, nodding towards his tablet.

"Yes, yes, of course," Rodney says, hurriedly reaching to turn off the tablet while John gets up and starts going around the room, snuffing out the candles one by one. The room sinks slowly into shadow.

Once every candle but one--the single one on the nightstand next to John's gun--has been extinguished, John makes his way back to the bed. He stops beside Rodney. "If you don't mind?" he says pointedly. Elizabeth can imagine the expression that goes with that tone of voice: she's seen it on his face countless times. All those times, when she never even had to think twice about what she assumed lay beneath that look, beneath that ironic, faintly mocking tone.

"What?" says Rodney, sounding about equal parts confusion and irritation.

"My pillow, genius. Or did you think you were going to get away with keeping both of them?"

"Oh, like you never hog all the-" Rodney swallows the rest of the sentence, even as John's shoulders stiffen. "Uh, sure," Rodney says quickly. "Here, take it."

They say their good nights, and Elizabeth really, really isn't going to make a _Waltons_ reference, though she's half surprised that neither Rodney nor John does so, either. The Rodney she knows shouldn't be resisting the opportunity to refer to Atlantis's military commander as John-Boy--but perhaps he doesn't wish to be dubbed Jim-Bob in retaliation.

She knows Rodney. And John. She knows both of them. Well.

She does.

When she looks over at them again, they're lying stiffly on their backs, side by side, but not touching. Not touching at all. They keep to their own side of the bed, close to the very edges of the mattress, leaving as much space between them as possible. Rodney is even holding his hands conspicuously out of harm's way behind his head, elbows bent out to the edges of his--single--pillow.

Then John reaches out and pinches out the lone candle, plunging everything into darkness.

Elizabeth lies there on her back, looking up into the blackness, listening to the quiet all around her, and suddenly she's as wide awake as she's weary. She stays that way for a minute. Two. Closes her eyes. Opens them again. Turns on her side, and the bed creaks.

Only it's not her bed making that sound. It's the other one.

There's a rustle of sheets. That's not her either. It's a perfectly innocuous sound: a body, or perhaps more than one, moving and settling in bed. Nothing unusual in that. Nothing she hasn't done herself countless times, regardless of whether she has company in her bed.

Things go quiet and still again after that. Elizabeth's fairly sure that she doesn't hear anything else, no soft sounds that might be words whispered through half-closed lips, nothing that suggests the occupants of the other bed might be moving closer together, allowing their bodies to touch, perhaps even pressing up against each other, or maybe letting a hand drift where it will.

No, nothing like that can be happening on the other side of the room. John doesn't like to be touched, after all. She knows that well. She remembers, all too clearly, how tense his body went under her hands when she put her arms around him and hugged him in the midst of the siege, when he came back to them, against all odds.

John doesn't like to be touched because he doesn't like to feel vulnerable. It's a guess, and it's amateur psychology at its worst, but she doesn't think she's wrong. John, unfathomable and unknowable on far too many levels, is, nonetheless, as relatively uncomplicated as any other man in some things.

John doesn't like to be touched, he doesn't like to let people close in any way--but he hadn't seemed to mind all that much, earlier, when Rodney...

The other bed creaks again. And again.

"McKay!" says John's voice in a loud whisper. He sounds irritated. Elizabeth almost laughs out loud. So much for soft sounds and gentle touches.

"Just trying to get comfortable so I can get to sleep. This mattress feels like it's stuffed with rocks," Rodney complains.

"Maybe it's some sort of test of perseverance. Of my perseverance, most like- Ow! Rodney!"

"Colonel."

"Hey, here's an idea: how about we leave off this conversation and you move that damned elbow of yours out of the way, and then we all try to get some sleep?"

Rodney makes a grumbling sound, but the conversation ceases. The sounds of movement coming from the other bed also cease after a moment and Elizabeth suspects John has gotten his way.

He has a habit of doing that.

Elizabeth's always found it easy to smile upon John, even early on, when they were both still trying to make sense of their relative places in Atlantis's power structure and learning how to work with instead of against each other. Since then, they have reached an understanding. More than that. Of all the alliances Elizabeth has forged, the one with John is one of those of which she's most proud. Alone in her bed at night, she's even sometimes wondered if it could be more than that, one day, if things were different.

It could never work as things stand, of course. She's known that, and very carefully not let herself dwell on all the reasons why. It's enough to know that she can't entertain the idea simply because she's the leader. She can't compromise her position just for the sake of a more personal connection, the need of a little human warmth, a little comfort. She has to be stronger than that.

But of course it couldn't work even if they were just ordinary colleagues with a working relationship uncomplicated by the demands of leadership, because John doesn't like to be touched. Things have a way of coming back to that simple fact every time her mind strays down this path.

John doesn't like to be touched. Not by anyone he has to work with, day in and day out. Not by anyone he actually knows. Fleeting encounters on other worlds are a different matter, but they start and finish in short order, and never progress further. Mostly, they never even come back to Atlantis, except in the form of rumour. What happens off-world remains off-world.

She'd really believed that, she truly had, until the door had opened and she'd seen what was right in front of her, unblinkered at last.

John had been lying on his back, Rodney sitting beside him, leaning down. And John had allowed it, had more than allowed it, his own hand reached up, touching Rodney's face. Not just allowing, but inviting. Another instant and they would have kissed.

A soft snore breaks the silence. And another, setting up a pattern. Elizabeth sighs up at the ceiling: it's going to be a long night if that keeps up. Evidently John thinks so too, because the next moment the snoring breaks off.

"Wha'?" says Rodney's voice.

"Move, Rodney. Lying on your back makes you snore," John hisses.

"It does not!" snaps Rodney, suddenly sounding much more awake. "I never snore."

"How would you know? You were asleep."

"I _know_."

"Fine, then. You don't snore. Ever. Just do us all a favour, though, and make sure you lie on your side."

"I'm perfectly comfortable as I- Ow!"

"Oh, sorry. Was that my elbow?" John asks innocently.

"You know damned well-"

"If you'd just roll over onto your side you wouldn't be anywhere near my elbow."

"Fine!" The bed creaks again. "Just make sure you keep that bony torture instrument of yours on that side of the bed, thank you very much, Colonel."

"See, that wasn't so hard," John says. "Now go to sleep."

"I _was_ asleep!"

"Night, Rodney!"

Things go properly quiet after that. Elizabeth curls in on herself, lying on her side and hugging her knees against her chest, and wills herself asleep. Even so, sleep does not come easily; she thinks Rodney might have been right about the rocks in the mattress. She's just dropping off, at last, when there's a rustle of sheets from the other bed again and then--nothing. Just a little heavy breathing, something that could easily be the natural breathing pattern of a sleeper. Rodney, she guesses, since he seems to tend towards snoring anyway.

A sound breaks through the silence of the room: the wet sound of a kiss ending. A long kiss. Or maybe not a kiss at all. Maybe just one pair of lips, parting on a sigh. Perfectly innocuous. People do things like that in their sleep all the time.

Of course, it isn't exactly unknown for people to kiss in bed, either. Elizabeth has had more than enough evidence of that already today.

It's at once incredibly easy and impossibly difficult to imagine.

Easy, because she saw it. Well, she almost saw it. She saw John lying there with Rodney touching him, leaning over him, a breath away from kissing him.

Difficult, because she heard them, there in the dark, goading one another, poking at each other and bickering. Hearing them like that, it's hard to believe they'd know how to be gentle with each other. She wouldn't have thought that those sorts of kisses would work between two people whose primary relationship is a spiky friendship that more closely resembles an endless sparring match than any sort of real alliance.

That's the part she's always seen, the only part she thought there was, and it's the part that still makes sense, or at least as much sense as is to be had from something that still seems like a dream--or would, if she were not trying and failing to sleep in the same room with it.

Much, much more sense than careful, gentle almost-brushings of lips.

It must have been a recent development. She would have noticed, if there'd been anything to notice before this. She's the diplomat around here, after all. She's the one trained to see secrets and lies for what they really are. Something must have happened. There must have been something, some catalyst, to set off such a completely unexpected... development, though she can't imagine what possible event could have been so dire, after everything they've already been through--everything _all_ of them have been through, together.

And yet, they're all lying here together right now, two plus one, but they're not making three.

Elizabeth hopes she manages to fall asleep soon. Otherwise, it's going to be a very long night. She closes her eyes tight, wishes she had a way of blocking her ears as well, and wonders what the morning will bring, other than further intimate knowledge of something of which she'd rather still be blissfully ignorant.

She doesn't notice when she finally drops off to sleep, but she wakes up again briefly when the temperature drops sharply at some point in the night. Elizabeth curls up tighter and wishes for a warm body against her back--or at least a couple of extra blankets--and is asleep again in moments.

She's awoken by noise the next time. Rodney's snoring again. He must have rolled over onto his back after all. But Rodney's snores aren't the only ones Elizabeth can hear this time: John's snoring too now, a little deeper and louder than Rodney's soft snuffling. It's a wonder either of them can sleep at all with all the racket they're making. It's no wonder that Elizabeth woke up. But as she listens, Elizabeth realises that their combined sound is not so much cacophony as a weird sort of polyphony, point and counterpoint, fitting together and around each other.

It's still too loud to allow Elizabeth to get back to sleep, though. She's a light sleeper easily awakened by the merest noise. After they moved in together, Simon quickly got used to an elbow in the ribs at night. Elizabeth wouldn't hesitate to elbow John and Rodney, if she were lying between them right now.

She closes her eyes and bites down on her lip. Hard.

After a moment, she forces her eyes open and grabs her watch. She presses the button on the side to turn on the backlight, and even the tiny amount of light given off by the watchface is something of a shock after the near total darkness. It's just after midday, Alantis time, which means she doesn't have to wait long for the Rengarian dawn. She hauls herself up and out of bed, stopping to light the candle on her nightstand before taking it up and padding across the room to the bathroom door.

She pauses by the other bed, the pale yellow candlelight casting a warm glow across the piled covers.

They've gravitated to the middle of the bed during the night. John's lying half over Rodney, an arm slung across him on top of the blankets, face turned into Rodney's neck. Rodney looks like he might have tried to burrow under John when the night turned cold, one hand against John's shoulder the only part of him that isn't covered by the bedclothes or by John.

Elizabeth wonders how often they've spent the night like this, to look so at ease tangled up together in sleep. The answer, she suspects, is "often". She tries out the idea, like some exotic dish she hasn't tasted before. They do this often: Rodney, who always seems so ill at ease when confronted with anything that smacks too much of the personal, and John, who doesn't like to be touched.

She's about to move away again when John tenses and goes quiet, and then rolls over onto his back. Beside him, Rodney makes a muffled, sleepy protest before descending back into another round of snoring, oblivious to his surroundings - but John is wide awake now, and his eyes are on Elizabeth.

"We need to talk," she says sombrely. "But not now. Later, when we get back."

John's eyes narrow. "Okay," he drawls, lading that one word with all sorts of nuances that Elizabeth isn't going to stop to try to sort out now--though questions and uncertainty, and wariness and faint hostility are all definitely part of it.

Elizabeth smiles her best diplomat's smile, not too cold, not too bright, and promising nothing, and turns away.

She can still hear Rodney's snoring once she's on the other side of the bathroom curtain.

And so the day begins.

* * *

A few hours later, it's all over. Elizabeth, flanked by John and Rodney, exchanges formal goodbyes with Father Gendrid and then they're ready to depart. Rodney says nothing as they leave the central chamber, his face an essay in disappointment. On her other side, John looks grim and prepared for anything. It's the face he always wears on the return from missions gone wrong, and Elizabeth's unsurprised to see it now. This mission, while not precisely in the same category as those during which lives and liberty are threatened, limbs broken, equipment lost or destroyed, and enemies made, cannot be said to be any sort of success.

Things hadn't started out that way. Despite her broken night's sleep, Elizabeth rose to the occasion, politely but firmly countering the Rengarians' every tactic at the negotiating table until she won. At the end of it all, the Rengarians still weren't willing to give up their jealously guarded Ancient relics, but even Rodney stopped protesting - wordlessly, after John trod hard on his foot, though with speaking, increasingly apoplectic looks each time Elizabeth appeared to concede a point--once Elizabeth cornered the Rengarian negotiator into agreeing to let them examine the hitherto unmentioned chamber beneath the Treasury.

The layout of the room was vaguely familiar to Elizabeth, eerily reminiscent of Atlantis, like every other part of the temple, but, also like every other part of the temple, disconcertingly augmented with the fuel lights and other trappings of a much less technologically advanced society. However, it was clear that this particular room was more than vaguely familiar to Rodney, who practically yelped in excitement as he rushed past the glassed cabinets full of artefacts, similar to those they'd seen upstairs, to a relatively non-descript piece of decorative panelling on the wall. John followed him across the room at a more sedate pace, looking right and left as he went, eyes wary and his whole body tense, as though expecting an unpleasant surprise at any moment.

He'd been like that all day.

Rodney was muttering as he pulled off a section of the panelling in front of him, revealing a small cavity.

Their hosts, Prakosh and another priest who had led them down to the chamber and who had been standing just inside the door looking on proudly until then, shared a glance, and frowned.

"Rodney, are you sure that's such a good-"

Rodney jabbed a finger into the cavity a couple of times, and all around them dim lighting, sort of hazy, like old-fashioned gaslight, flickered into life.

"-idea?" John finished.

"I knew there had to be a ZPM in this place somewhere," Rodney said, folding his arms and looking very pleased with himself--for the few seconds until all the lights went out again. "What the- It shouldn't have done that!" He started digging in the cavity again.

"But yes, it should," said Prakosh, coming forward. "That is the magic of this room, what makes it holy."

"Oh, what?" Rodney looked up, eyeing him with undisguised disgust. He didn't utter the term "mumbo-jumbo", but he really didn't need to. Prakosh was far from the stupidest official representative that Elizabeth had dealt with over the years. Very far.

"It is not required for others to share our beliefs in order to enter the temple, Doctor McKay, but it is, perhaps, prudent for visitors to respect them," Prakosh said, a steely glint in his eye, though his voice remained politely formal.

"Of course we respect your beliefs," Elizabeth broke in smoothly. "And we're very honoured that you agreed to show us this place and gave us leave to examine it. Perhaps you'd be good enough to explain the holy quality of the room in more detail?" She smiled an invitation.

"It isn't complicated, Doctor Weir," Prakosh said, just as smoothly taking the opportunity to turn away from Rodney as he did so. "The Ancestors shine their light on us still in this room, and have done so since time immemorial."

"But not all that brightly, and not all the time, clearly," said Rodney, sounding far from impressed.

"No, not all the time," said Prakosh, unruffled. "The very unpredictability of it is, perhaps, part of the life lesson the room is meant to convey to those with eyes to see it."

"Unpredictable?" The scathing rejoinder that Rodney had been clearly about to utter died on his lips. "There's no obvious pattern to it at all?"

"None that we have been able to discern."

"You're sure?"

"The Brothers have kept records of the timings of the holy light for generations. The more scholarly amongst us have looked for a pattern many times. We have found none."

"Interesting," said Rodney. "Not good, of course, but interesting."

"Why not good?" John asked immediately, before Elizabeth had a chance to ask the question herself.

"Because," Rodney said, whipping a screwdriver-type thing out of a pocket in his tac vest and peering into the cavity, "if this thing has been turning itself on and off randomly for at least as long as the Brothers have been keeping records..."

"Then it's been doing it for centuries," Elizabeth realised.

"Probably more like millennia," said Rodney, getting to work with the screwdriver-thing. "Using power, _wasting_ power, all that time..." He shook his head in disapproval. "There we go. That should do it."

The lights came up again, illuminating the room properly this time, so bright that they dazzled Elizabeth. Then, before Rodney even had time to gloat in triumph, they flickered once and died.

"Oh, what?" said Rodney. He felt around inside the cavity then took the screwdriver-thing--the _tool_ \- and pushed it in. That turned the lights on again, just as brightly as before, though they dimmed a moment later when Rodney pressed a button by the side on the side of the cavity in the panelling, which made him frown some more. "Colonel, come here and make yourself useful." Rodney snapped his fingers.

John sent Rodney a dirty look at the peremptory summons, just as he always did when Rodney used that tone on him, but he went anyway. "Just what I've been waiting for," he said as he came up next to Rodney.

Rodney dove back into the panelling, and grunted something in reply from its depths.

"The academy, officer training, hundreds and hundreds of flying hours, working my way up... all with the hope of one day making it to the dizzy heights of lab assistant," John went on.

Rodney lifted his head out of the wall. "Good, good," he said distractedly. "Now, just take hold of this, and _don't_, for any reason, let go or ease off on the pressure until I say so. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, not for any reason. I got it," John said, rolling his eyes.

Elizabeth watched them from across the room, smiling slightly, aware, as always, of exactly what expression was showing on her face--and then the warmth left her smile as she became abruptly conscious of what else she was doing. Her eyes tightened a little in annoyance at herself, for allowing herself to look so openly for some hint, for some sign of that other side of things she'd literally walked in on the night before--but she kept looking for it, anyway. She found nothing though. All she saw was John and Rodney in action, just the same way they always were together in Atlantis and in the field, just as she'd seen them scores of times.

Somehow, that was more unsettling than if they'd given themselves away at every turn.

Rodney leapt over to another piece of panelling that had begun glowing orange around the same time that he'd pressed the button and the lights had dimmed. He rubbed at the glowing bit with his sleeve, then blew the dust away, and sneezed violently. "Gee, your centuries of devotion didn't include much in the way of regular housekeeping, did it?" he muttered between more sneezes.

"Rodney!" Elizabeth remonstrated.

But Rodney's attention had already been consumed by the glowing monitor in front of him. "Oh, that's just great," he said, and sighed.

"What?" said John, taking a step toward him. The lights flickered.

"Don't move!" Rodney yelled.

"Sorry!" John muttered, moving back to his piece of panelling.

"What's the matter, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked.

"The ZPM," Rodney said, attention still on the monitor. "According to the gauge, it's almost completely depleted. The lights and the other devices contained in this facility don't require nearly as much energy as a shield and a full defence system, but it's a safe bet that all those random power surges over the years have drained the ZPM at a significantly greater rate than normal."

"Any idea why?" John said.

Rodney looked up. "Does it matter?"

John stared at him. "What do you mean, 'does it matter?' Of course it matters! Anyway, don't you want to know? I thought you always wanted to get to the bottom of stuff like that."

"Well of course I _know_ why it happened, but do I have to explain every single-"

"Gentlemen." It was Elizabeth's pet word for breaking up their 'discussions' whenever they started to escalate out of control, but for once she wasn't the one saying it. Prakosh came forward, while Elizabeth herself felt like a parent ready to sink into the floor in mortification at her children's lack of manners while out in public. "I, for one, would be most intrigued to find out the mechanism behind the secret of the Chamber of Enlightenment, if you would be so kind as to explain." He looked at Rodney expectantly.

Rodney looked a little disconcerted, as though surprised that Prakosh should show an interest in anything of a technical nature, but then he straightened up and squared his chin, assuming his customary lecturing mode. "It's quite simple, really. The Ancients left the equipment contained in this facility-"

"This temple," Prakosh corrected.

"Fine, yes, the equipment in this _temple_ set on automatic when they aban- left it for your people to... have. Originally, the lights would have been on all the time--well, whenever there was anyone nearby - and all of the consoles and other devices would have been lit up and in full working order. While it's likely that many, indeed, _most _ of them would have had a hibernation mode of sorts, none of it ever would have truly turned off."

"But it didn't stay that way." Elizabeth said. "What do you think happened?"

"Nothing continues working indefinitely without some sort of maintenance or at least adequate pre-planning, Elizabeth. Not even Ancient equipment, particularly not after it's taken what looks like more than a few direct hits from Wraith weapons."

"Wraith?" John frowned, one hand reaching for his weapon, though the other remained pressed inside the opening in the panelling.

"Not _recently_, obviously," Rodney sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. "We know the Wraith haven't been near here in generations, possibly thanks to the holy aura," he cast a disdainful glance in Prakosh's direction, "but more likely because this place is surrounded by dense forest and large sections of it are underground, and there are relatively few of you, particularly compared to the population of the settlement on the edge of the forest. Simply put, this place isn't worth the time and effort for the Wraith when there are easier pickings close by. Or, at least, it wasn't. Now that they've been woken up, of course, and-"

"So when _did_ the Wraith attack this place, do you think?" Elizabeth cut in.

"During the war with the Ancients, without doubt. Possibly more recently--as in, within the last few thousand years. _Possibly_. The point is, after sustaining considerable damage and with no one left to do repairs or even basic maintenance, after a while, inevitably, things started to fail."

"And?" John asked.

"And what?" Rodney said, frowning impatiently.

"And: what happened after that?"

"The ZPM itself would have continued to function without a problem, of course, but the connections to it doubtlessly became more and more unreliable and erratic: the equipment would work for a while, at increasingly irregular intervals, until at last all that was left were the lights and some of the other equipment in this room. And, as you've seen, they're hardly what you'd call in proper working order." Somehow, Rodney resisted finishing off his explanation with an elaborate flourish, though he did fold his arms and incline his head in a manner that reminded Elizabeth forcibly of an absolute ruler making a pronouncement--possibly of death.

"So what you're really saying," John said slowly, "is that the place developed a whole lot of loose wires that made the power go on and off without any warning, and after a while most of them fried."

"No, no, no! How many times do I have to tell you there aren't any wires?" Rodney shook his head impatiently.

"Crystals, then. Whatever. The point is, the connections failed."

"It's a great deal more complex than that!" Rodney's folded arms tightened across his chest in a defensive posture.

"But, basically, that's what happened?" There was the barest suggestion of a smile hovering around John's lips.

"It's not as simple as-"

"Rodney."

"Well, to totally oversimplify to a ridiculous degree... yes." Rodney was looking more than a little put out now.

"So I was right."

"What?! How do you figure that?"

"When I said last night that it sounded like a loose wire, I was right." The corner of John's mouth was curling upward now.

"That's what this is all about? You want to prove that you worked out the problem before I did? It was a lucky guess, nothing more!" Rodney said tightly.

"So I _was_ right."

Rodney took a deep breath, appearing to be about to launch into an animated rebuttal. Elizabeth took a step toward them, preparing to intervene, but John just remained standing there, looking at Rodney, eyes gleaming. And Rodney looked back at him. He kept looking back at John for a long moment, then swallowed hard, biting back the flow of words that had appeared about to erupt, and instead simply rolled his eyes. "If it makes you happy: yes, you were right," he said.

"Cool." John flashed him a grin and leaned back against the panelling.

"A truly fascinating theory," Prakosh said. John and Rodney turned in unison to look at him. "But still just a theory."

"It's a little more than a theory," Rodney corrected automatically. "It's easily verifiable. Let me pull off some more of this panelling and I'll turn it into substantiated fact for you in no time."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Prakosh said, in a way that put Elizabeth instantly on alert. "You've already provided us with far more than, as events have transpired, we are able to give in return." He glanced toward the site of Rodney's recent excavations.

"True, but-"

Elizabeth quelled Rodney with a look.

"In light of our inability to provide you with the key to the power source you hoped to find, I feel sure that the Venerable Father will accede to your request to take some of the Ancestral relics from the Treasury away with you." Prakosh smiled gently. Diplomatically.

"That's... very generous of you," Rodney conceded.

"In that case, if you'd care to come with me, we'll make arrangements without delay,' Prakosh said briskly.

"But what about..." Rodney gestured at the consoles that lined the room.

"As you yourself explained so thoroughly and helpfully, the power source is all but consumed, and there can be little left in this temple of interest to a man of science such as yourself apart from those few items that you may wish to take away with you and examine at your leisure."

"When you put it like that, you make it really impossible to argue with your... generosity," John observed, all trace of amusement gone from his face.

"I'm glad to know you approve, Colonel Sheppard," said Prakosh, the gentle smile back on his face.

"That's not quite the word I'd use," John said.

"Doctor McKay, if you would?" Prakosh gestured toward the stairs.

"Fine," Rodney said, though his tone implied anything but as he stuffed the tool he'd been using back into his tac vest.

"Uh, Rodney?" John said.

"Yes, what?" Rodney said.

"So it's okay to take my hand off this now?" John nodded towards the cavity his hand was still pressed into.

"Off what? Oh, you could have taken it out of there any time, as soon as I'd finished checking the ZPM's power readings on the monitor."

"Rodney."

"What? I thought you realised that it was only to keep the connection steady while I was using the console. Apart from that, it was only useful for keeping the lights on, and there are already plenty of torches-"

"Rodney," John grated. "You told me not to let go _for any reason_."

"Did I? Well, at the time, that was true!"

"If you'd lead the way, Brother Prakosh?" Elizabeth interjected, taking Rodney's arm and moving him off towards the stairs even as John at last removed his hand from the wall panelling and shook it a couple of times while muttering something about the circulation.

Just as Prakosh had predicted, and in marked contrast to their earlier objections, the Rengarians handed over every Ancient artefact Rodney so much as looked at, without the slightest murmur of protest, even going to far as to wrap each item and stow it away in his--or possibly John's - pack. They were solemn as they did so, though; more solemn than usual. The priests kept their eyes mostly on John and Rodney, who had gone strangely silent--or maybe not so strangely, considering that months of largely tedious missions to this planet had just ended in a subdued whimper rather than the (metaphorical) scientific bang of the new power source he'd been hoping to uncover.

Father Gendrid was equally solemn as he said the formal words of leave-taking, asking that Elizabeth and her companions not become strangers after they went back into the world outside. Elizabeth made the correct responses, word perfect, of course, but even as she said the words she got the distinct feeling that this was more than just ritual on the part of the Venerable Father. His keen old eyes stayed fixed on her, hard enough to make her squirm, or would have, if she'd been one of his usual... fellow conversationalists, she was sure. She smiled in response, this time using one of the most effective in all her repertoire: the leave-taking smile. It promised nothing, since no promises were required of it. All professional negotiators knew it. All professional negotiators sought it. If you could use that smile, it meant you'd won.

Now, as they make their way down a corridor leading away from the central chamber, she's still trying to work out what that all was supposed to mean, and whether she'd truly been entitled to that final smile. When they turn a corner and come face to face with Prakosh, she can't say that she's surprised.

"If I might have a word before you depart, Doctor Weir?" Prakosh says. "A private word?" He gestures towards an alcove a little further down the corridor.

She hesitates, and Rodney mutters something about it being too much to hope for that they would make it out of the place without being stopped to take part in yet another pointless farewell ritual. The familiar spark of irritation flashes through Elizabeth at Rodney's words. She wishes he wouldn't do that, and waits for John to tread on his foot, or make some wise crack--anything to distract Rodney and diffuse the situation.

But this time, John is still and silent.

"Just a quick word, then," Elizabeth finds herself agreeing. Neither John nor Rodney says anything as she walks away with Prakosh.

"Doctor McKay has little time for our beliefs," says Prakosh when they reach the alcove, looking back over Elizabeth's shoulder to where John and Rodney are waiting.

"And yet you keep inviting him back to your planet," Elizabeth observes.

"You keep sending him to us," Prakosh points out.

"The treaty specifically allows for you to reject any member of any official party sent to a formal proceeding at the temple and to request an alternate delegate instead--and yet you never have," Elizabeth counters.

Prakosh concedes the point with a small, wry smile. "Doctor McKay thinks little of our religion, or of our philosophy, and he makes no effort to conceal it."

"Rodney believes in scientific explanation. He travels a path carved by his own skills and talents and is rather... impatient with other ways of viewing the world, I'm afraid."

Prakosh suppresses a smile, a real one this time, a proper flash of amusement. It's quick, but not quick enough that Elizabeth can fail to notice it, or easily pretend to. "I'm sorry," she says. "I don't quite see the joke."

Prakosh inclines his head. "No, I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

Elizabeth lets her eyes go just a little hard. Just enough. "I'd appreciate it if you'd share, since we're allies. At least, that's what the last two days have been about, haven't they?"

"That has been part of it, certainly," Prakosh agrees. "Though that isn't all of it for you, or for us, either."

"Oh?" Elizabeth says.

"The three of you came here with more than a simple alliance in mind. You hoped for material gain as a result of these negotiations."

"Yes, that's true," Elizabeth admits, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

"We also hoped for something more than simple alliance."

"Oh?" Elizabeth says again. And waits.

Prakosh remains silent.

"What did you find so amusing just now?" Elizabeth asks once she realises he's not going to say anything more of his own accord.

Prakosh clasps his hands, and rests his chin on them a moment. He looks troubled, and truly at a loss for words for the first time since she met him.

"You implied that Doctor McKay travels a solitary path and relies on himself alone."

"Yes," says Elizabeth. "He does do that. Rodney possesses many valuable talents and skills shared by very few others, and we rely on those talents and skills as much as he does himself. We had good reason for sending him back to your planet every time."

Prakosh nods. "Indeed. And yet, Doctor McKay has never come here alone. As you so helpfully pointed out, he has always travelled here as part of a group. We have observed Doctor McKay--and, indeed, all of your people--closely during the times they have visited the temple. As you should be more than aware by now, our people do not believe in travelling the path of life alone, estranged from Family. Little though he may wish to believe it, the way in which Doctor McKay lives his life is remarkably close to being in accordance with our teachings. He does not walk alone."

Prakosh looks back over at where Rodney and John are standing, waiting for Elizabeth. Of course he does. Not for the first time, or the second, Elizabeth reminds herself just how perceptive a mind she's dealing with here. He might be a second level priest on a third rate planet in the back of beyond of the Wraith-ravaged Pegasus galaxy, but she'd bet good money--the sort she hasn't seen since she was last on Earth--that he isn't going to stay where he is for ever. Prakosh will go places, though whether there will be a spectacular fall to match the spectacular rise that she's pretty sure is in his near future is anyone's guess.

"It is not our belief that Doctor McKay travels the path of life alone," he says after a moment, and then turns back to look her square in the eye. "I would say, rather, that it is you yourself who holds herself apart. Doctor Weir. Or would you not agree that you employ your own personal skills to carve a path that you alone may travel?"

It's not the reply Elizabeth was expecting, but she's careful to let no more than ordinary surprise show on her face. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. I'm the leader. My actions clear the way for my people to do what they have to do."

"And must all your people wait behind you as you clear the way?" He's holding her gaze as he looks down at her, less than subtly intimidating by dint of simply standing there, like every tall man who's ever tried to unbalance her, for whatever reason.

The tactic works on Elizabeth about as well as it usually does, which is to say, not at all. She pauses a moment, as though deliberating, before she replies: "I'm the leader. At the end of the day, the buck stops with me, as we say on my planet. That means I'm the one who has to make the decisions, and the one who has to take responsibility for the outcomes that result from those decisions."

"But do you have to hold yourself always completely separate in order to be the decision-maker? May no one walk beside you on the path at any time?"

His choice of words almost shock Elizabeth into an unguarded reaction--into scrabbling to maintain the balance she was so very sure of a moment ago. She wobbles--inside--but somehow she doesn't jerk up her head to look at him sharply, and she doesn't let anything extreme show in her eyes, though the expression on her face becomes more fixed and hard than she'd like. The breath catches in her throat, and she swallows before making herself speak. "Perhaps," she says, and forces her lips to curve into the semblance of a smile.

"I trust you found the room comfortable last night," Prakosh says.

Elizabeth doesn't blink at the non sequitur. "Yes, it was fine," she says.

"Traditionally, it is said that a night spent in the temple during the week of the Festival of Enlightenment repairs broken family ties and strengthens existing ones as the time together away from the demands and cares of everyday life brings family members closer to a point of mutual understanding." He looks at her intently.

"So you said last night."

"Then you took advantage of the opportunity?"

"We know each other very well," says Elizabeth. It's the first time she's ever had to assure someone of that. A shame that it's not really quite true. Not now. Maybe it never was.

 

He looks at her a little sadly. "I hope this will not be your last visit to the temple, Doctor Weir. There is much that remains unfinished."

The ink is dry on the revised treaty. The mysterious power source is explained. Rodney even has all the artefacts he wanted. There's nothing else to do here. Elizabeth can't imagine there'll be a reason to return.

"I hope I'll have the opportunity to return at some point in the future. And now, if you'll excuse me, it really is time we were going." She smiles again and turns away.

For the first time ever, the leave-taking smile fails to warm her as she joins Rodney, stony-faced and empty-handed, and John, distant and silent. She doesn't know whether she's entitled to that smile. She doesn't really know whether they've won. She thinks they came out on top, at least in the formal negotiations. They would have emerged triumphant if only the ZPM hadn't been almost depleted.

But Prakosh isn't acting like someone who came second in a bargain, and not only is he too smart for self-deception, he also knows a lot more than Elizabeth about what's really going on here on this planet. Prakosh is acting, rather, like someone who hasn't gotten everything he wants--yet. He's acting like someone who's seen the promise of what he's really after, but knows he's missed out on the offer of it this time around.

He looks like someone who's prepared to wait for the next opportunity at his goal, even though that opportunity might be a long time in coming.

Elizabeth lets the too-ready smile drop from her lips. Her mouth is a firm line as she turns to look back at Prakosh, very deliberately catching and holding his gaze.

Prakosh breaks first, though he disguises it well with one of those formal inclines of the head: it would appear to be a farewell gesture to anyone who happened to be looking on. He does not look at her again, though his gaze lingers on her companions a touch longer than she might have expected--or than she might have expected if she hadn't already noticed how often his attention returns to them - before he turns away.

Elizabeth watches his retreating back and the realisation strikes her as suddenly and unexpectedly as the lights coming on in the Chamber of Enlightenment. _He knew_, she thinks. Prakosh knew all the time. Not just about what they were really seeking here, and not just about the Chamber of Enlightenment itself. He knew the ZPM was there, and he knew what it was. And he knew it was depleted.

Elizabeth closes her eyes and swallows hard, clenches her stomach muscles against the sick feeling that wants to rise up. She knew Prakosh was good, keener and smarter and more knowledgeable and, yes, more devious than Rodney was ever willing to give him credit for, but that's not really surprising: most people are at least a little smarter than Rodney's willing to give them credit for. She just didn't expect Prakosh to be--maybe--better at Rodney's game than Rodney himself. She didn't expect him to be better at _her_ game than she is herself.

It's been a long time since she's been quite this well-played. She isn't smiling any more.

"Let's go, then, shall we?" Elizabeth suggests to John and Rodney, and God only knows what sort of look accompanies her words.

"Yeah, why don't we," John agrees. He's already moving by the time he's finished speaking, with Rodney a half-step behind.

No one stops to talk to them or otherwise hinder their progress this time, and soon they've reached the main doors of the temple. Elizabeth blinks as she steps out into the daylight, even though it's relatively dim beneath the cover of the forest canopy. Her eyes, at least, have grown used to the artificial environment of the temple in the two days she's been there.

She keeps her eyes on John's back as they start the trek along the forest path. There's little else she can do but keep to her place between them and let John, and, yes, Rodney as well, use their superior field skills to keep an eye out for potential threats. She's out of her element here; she's not going to try to deny it. Actually, it's something of a relief to finally be able to turn off the over-conscious, ever-watchful part of herself that usually thrives on the challenge of alien cultures and competing agendas. She's ready for a break after being continuously 'on' all yesterday and today, and last night--well, she's not going to think about last night right now. This mission has left her with plenty of other things to think about.

Elizabeth's vaguely aware of birdcalls in the distance as they walk, the crackle of twigs beyond the path as the local wildlife scurries away at their approach, and the steady thud of their feet, marking time as they go, but most of her attention is still back at the temple. She stumbles and almost walks straight into John when he comes to an abrupt halt.

"We're here," John says belatedly, a touch apologetically, and nods towards the empty clearing in front of them.

Elizabeth shakes her head, trying to clear it, as Rodney comes up beside her. The three of them watch in silence as the puddlejumper shimmers into view, still sitting in the clearing, just where they left it yesterday morning.

Rodney strides ahead without a word as the hatch opens. It's only then that it occurs to Elizabeth that Rodney is being uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, she hasn't heard him say anything at all since they left the temple; not since his last muttered comment at Prakosh. He shrugs off his pack and stows it in the storage compartment beneath the bench at the back of the 'jumper, not sparing either it or Elizabeth and John so much as another glance before he disappears into the forward section. Elizabeth sighs as she lets her own pack slip off her back. John takes it from her without a word, securing it beside the other two.

If this were a successful mission--if Elizabeth had had any right to that victory smile she'd worn all too briefly--Rodney would probably be pulling out the contents of their packs like an over-excited child on Christmas morning. If this were a normal mission, whether successful or not, Rodney would no doubt already be sitting at a console, taking readings or checking data or following up a lead on _something_.

But this isn't a normal mission, any more than it's a successful one. Elizabeth comes through to the forward section of the jumper to find that Rodney is seated, yes, but that's as far as it goes. His arms are folded across his chest and he looks lost in thought, which is hardly unusual for Rodney--and yet, this is. There's a tightness to him, not just in his face and around his jaw, but to all of him, his whole body sort of folded in on itself in a way that speaks of a self-contained anger building toward an explosion of some kind. Elizabeth's seen Rodney annoyed more times than she can count: his sarcastic, irritated outbursts are almost as familiar as the stargate itself to just about everyone who lives in Atlantis. However, Elizabeth also knows Rodney well enough to have observed him on those relatively rare occasions when he's been in the grip of true anger, coldly, quietly furious over something he finds truly objectionable.

That quiet seething she remembers from those times isn't what she's seeing now, though. In the past two days she's experienced enough of the Rengarians' ways to gain a better understanding of just why Rodney has found the repeated wasteful--to his way of thinking--visits to this planet frustrating in the extreme, but still, Elizabeth's never seen him quite like this, and it's beginning to unnerve her.

It's only when Elizabeth hears movement behind her that she realises she's standing there, staring, and probably looking almost as distracted as Rodney. She steps hastily out of the way to let John past. It's probably only because her gaze sweeps around the cabin as she does so--or really, who knows how or why? Call it chance--that she sees John's knuckles brush against the side of Rodney's neck as he moves towards the pilot's seat. The action is so slight, so fleeting that in any other person, in any other circumstances, Elizabeth would write it off as accidental and forget about it an instant after it happened. But this is John, who never touches anyone except by choice, who does so even less enthusiastically than he allows the touch of others in return. And this is Rodney--Rodney, whose mouth is tight and pinched and still not saying anything.

John stops by the pilot's seat, but then, instead of sitting down, he turns around and catches Rodney by the shoulders. There's nothing remotely accidental about this touch. Clearly, John's reached some sort of decision.

"John." The move has shocked Rodney out of his silence, at least. He sounds as unsure as Elizabeth is as to what it might mean.

"Rodney, it's done. Let it go." John's not using the command voice but Elizabeth still can't tell whether it's an order or a request. She wonders if even John knows for sure.

Rodney's gaze flickers inexplicably to Elizabeth and then back to John.

"We've got all we're ever going to get out of these people. It's time to cut our losses and move on," John says evenly.

"They were treating m- us like fools!" Rodney snarls. "All those trips back to this planet, when they nodded and smiled and pretended to be only a few steps up from simple peasants, and they knew that was sitting there, all the time!"

"They weren't ever going to let us get a good look at that place. That's clear now. So, I repeat: let it go." John's still got both hands on Rodney's shoulders and he's looking down into his eyes, not letting him look away, not letting him go, not in any sense. The look they exchange is intense, and after a second or two Elizabeth is the one to look away.

She looks up again when John finally turns away and moves to his own seat. He squints at the HUD, which pops up immediately at his approach. "I think I've had about enough of this planet," he says as he settles behind the controls. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd care to take your seats and fasten your seatbelts, I think we'll skip the emergency evacuation demonstration this once in the interests of getting the hell out of here as soon as possible."

"Just so long as you aren't late coming round with the peanuts this time," quips Rodney. It sounds a little forced, but at least he's trying to act more like himself again, and his shoulders have lost some of the tightness they held before.

As Elizabeth hastily takes her own seat beside John, she's still unsure why they--he - let her see whatever it was that just happened. As a sign of trust, perhaps--though remembering the look on his face first thing this morning, she hardly thinks that's likely - or simply because he's decided there's no point in pretending now that she's seen... what she's already seen. Looking at the tense line of his shoulders now and seeing that matching tense, distant mission-gone-wrong look settling back into his eyes, she can't help thinking that maybe he let her see what lies beneath simply to remind her that it's always there, even if it's rarely visible on the surface.

The puddlejumper takes off, and Elizabeth leans back in her seat, automatically bracing herself, still not quite used to the non-impact of the inertial dampeners. John and Rodney, of course, don't react at all. John's hands move over the controls with easy competence. It's just like every other time she's been in the puddlejumper with them, apart from the fact that for once Rodney isn't checking something on his ever-present tablet, and, mercifully, no one is injured. This could be the return trip from any mission they've been on since coming to Pegasus. Almost.

Looking at them, like this, so very much the two men she's always known, the one thing Elizabeth knows for sure is that, whatever the reason behind the little display that she just saw, it's most definitely not because they're incapable of keeping it hidden.

She looks away, out through the viewport and into the twilight atmosphere of the planet that's quickly blending into the darkness of space as they pull away from Rengar, away from the temple, away-

"Rodney!" she yells over her shoulder and turns awkwardly in her seat to face him.

"What?!" Rodney sits up, eyes wide.

"Can you do a scan for energy readings now? Before we leave the planet?"

"Of course, I-"

"Thank you." She turns to John. "John, don't go anywhere just yet."

John's giving her his narrow-eyed, considering look. "I got that." The puddlejumper has come to a halt, hovering in mid-air. John pauses to scratch his nose. "Just--what sort of 'not going anywhere just yet' did you have in mind? Were you thinking of not going anywhere as in staying right where we are now, or not going anywhere as in turning around and doing a quick flyover of the temple?"

Elizabeth nods once, smiling grimly. "Let's just do one last double-check before we go. Call it a farewell gesture."

Behind them, Rodney's got his tablet out, interfacing with the jumper's rear console, and he's tapping on the screen. "No fluctuations. No readings from the ZPM at all. Looks like their Chamber of Enlightenment is in the dark," he says, lips twisting. And then he frowns. "But not just the Chamber... Colonel, you didn't happen to just do anything weird, did you?"

"No, I haven't done a damned thing except stop. Am I going to regret it if I ask why you just asked that?"

"Probably, but it's not going to change these readings, I'm afraid."

"I thought you said there weren't any." John says, frowning, and turns around in his seat.

"There aren't."

"How's that?"

"There aren't any," Rodney repeats. "Not just from the ZPM. There aren't any energy readings at all. Not even low level residuals from more basic forms of energy." He puts down his stylus and looks up from the screen. All traces of his former distraction is gone. He's completely focused on the task at hand, and deadly serious. "Not even heat."

"You mean from their torches and fireplaces?" says Elizabeth.

"And from their bodies," says Rodney.

Elizabeth closes her eyes. She usually likes being proven right about as much as Rodney does, even if she generally manages to pull it off with rather more grace. She's so totally not enjoying this.

"I think maybe we'd better go in cloaked," says John.

"Whatever you think best," says Elizabeth, though she's pretty sure it isn't going to matter either way.

John comes in so low they're almost skimming the tops of the trees; there's no way they can miss the temple, and yet they do. John flies over the site--what should be the site - again, higher this time, but the result is the same: no readings, no temple, nothing there at all.

"You couldn't have somehow turned on a cloaking device or something when you were tinkering with the wiring down there could you, Rodney?" John asks.

Rodney shoots him an incredulous look. "Of course not. I _do_ know what I'm doing, you know. And anyway, even supposing the Ancients had rigged something like that in the first place, there just wasn't enough power to run something like that. The ZPM had enough power left to keep the lights on in the Chamber for a few more years, but as for turning on something powerful enough to cloak the whole facility for even a second or two--forget it."

"So you're saying that what we're seeing now is real," Elizabeth says. "It's not the result of cloaking technology or any sort of optical illusion?"

"So far as I can determine, no. What we're seeing is what's really there," Rodney replies.

"Then we have a problem," says Elizabeth, looking out through the viewport.

The temple is not simply gone, as she was more or less expecting when she gave the order to turn around. It's more than gone. A lot more. Elizabeth looks out through the viewport and down at the forest below, down at the endless, unbroken expanse of tall, centuries old trees, down at the place where the temple should be: the place that looks exactly like there was never any temple there at all.

* * *

It's evening when they return to Atlantis, tired and frustrated and light years away from the triumphal return Elizabeth had anticipated with cautious optimism when they set out less than two whole days ago. They're later getting back than they'd originally anticipated, thanks to ending up spending hours longer on the planet attempting to get to the bottom of the mystery of the disappearing temple. Looking back on everything that's happened, perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that their efforts to find out what happened to the temple got them exactly nowhere, much like all their other visits to the planet.

First, they landed the puddlejumper in the clearing where they'd left it before and attempted to get back to the site of the temple on foot. Attempted rather than succeeded: the path petered out into animal tracks disappearing into the dense growth long before they made it anywhere near where the temple should have been. Then they were delayed even further when they stopped at the settlement on the edge of the forest. The village elders, when they at last deigned to speak with Elizabeth, denied all knowledge of the temple, and all knowledge of the treaty in accordance with which they'd supposedly been supplying potatoes all these months.

The looks on their faces must be enough of an explanation about the outcome of the mission, because all the people who just happen to be hanging around the control room when they get back silently melt away after the briefest of greetings and assurances that all is well in the city. All but Teyla and Ronon, who accompany them down to the infirmary for the post-mission check-up, apparently unwilling to let John or Rodney out of their sight until they are pronounced fit and healthy. Neither of them appreciated being left behind, splitting up the team. Elizabeth wonders if they know that the team is always split up on a certain fundamental level, always divided into its component parts of John and Rodney on one side, and everyone else on the other. Though maybe she's not being entirely fair in that assessment. Maybe it doesn't work quite like that in the context of the team. Maybe Teyla and Ronon don't care about the extra bond that lies between John and Rodney, if they know at all. Maybe they're perfectly happy making up their own component part of the team. At least in a group of four, unlike three, there's the possibility of balance resulting from--co-existing with - division.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe means nothing. Elizabeth needs something more solid and factual to work with, which means she still has one more round of negotiations to get through before this day ends, and isn't _that_ going to be fun and games for all concerned? She finds herself looking over at John, sitting on the side of an infirmary bed looking on in apparent unconcern as Carson draws blood from his arm. The next bed over, Rodney is complaining loudly to the nurse about the tightness of the tourniquet she's wrapping around his arm, the extreme sensitivity of his vascular system, and just why it's all likely to result in permanent tissue damage, for which she'll be extremely sorry, only it will be far too late for _him_ by then, won't it--and does she think that barely visible bump on his wrist might be the beginnings of some sort of allergic reaction? A slight smile touches John's lips as he listens. It's the first time in hours that Elizabeth has seen the grim soldier's mask lift from John's face.

And then it's Elizabeth's turn. Carson's efficient at carrying out the various standard post-mission procedures--after the number of times he's administered all of them, he should be--but Elizabeth's really beginning to appreciate the "anywhere but here" attitude exhibited by all those who go off-world regularly whenever confronted with the prospect of a post-mission check-up. This particular check-up is further complicated by the need for Carson to check for... something--but what, exactly? Possible evidence of hallucinogens or something else physical in their systems? Possible evidence of mind-tampering or memory-alteration or some sort of mental coercion? Or just something not quite right? Physical effects are simple enough for any medical practitioner to test for, but with all the rest it's almost impossible to know where to begin, when there's nothing more driving Elizabeth than a vague sense of unease and suspicion, and a whole boatload of questions with no answers. Particularly when Elizabeth isn't even sure that the Rengarians actually did anything of that nature to them at all. However, this option is still better than the alternative, the possibility that Prakosh's people possess the sort of technology that can not only disguise something as large as the temple but maybe even move it in not much more than an instant while making the site appear as if nothing was ever there in the first place. Just contemplating the possibility of the existence of a civilisation with that sort of power at its disposal sends shivers down Elizabeth's spine.

At last Carson's finished with them, and they're free to leave. Well, 'free' is perhaps a slight misnomer. Lorne and Zelenka are both waiting near the doorway: Lorne because he knows through experience that he has to catch John before he leaves the infirmary if he's to have any chance of seeing him at all this soon after returning from a difficult mission, and Zelenka because he's learnt that the only thing worse than seeking Rodney out straight after a mission is waiting for Rodney to come in search of him. Zelenka seems to hesitate, as though trying to work out how best to phrase a question. No doubt he's heard at least a whisper of what happened--or what didn't happen--during the mission. At the very least, the fact that they've returned without any wondrous new power source must be glaringly obvious. But before Zelenka can say anything, Rodney snaps out a question of his own, demanding to know what's been going on in the lab in his absence. Zelenka bristles, replies with exaggerated calm, and that's all it takes. They're off, voices raised, arms waving, not seeming to pay attention at all to their surroundings, though they're walking in the vague direction of the lab. No doubt they'll be down there half the night.

Or then again, maybe not. Two days ago, Elizabeth wouldn't have wasted a second's extra thought wondering whether Rodney would spend half the night working in the lab. After all, where else would he be?

Where indeed.

John doesn't watch Rodney leave. Instead, he exchanges a look with Lorne, a resigned look that speaks of getting the pain of administrivia over and done with as quickly as possible. And off they go, in silent accord.

Elizabeth turns to Teyla and smiles what just might be the thousandth smile of the day. "So what's been going on around here while we've been gone?" she asks as she leads the way up to her office.

Their meeting is relatively painless. Teyla's an extremely competent deputy, and even in Atlantis sometimes as many as two days can pass without a crisis springing up out of nowhere. As it turns out, there's nothing at all requiring Elizabeth's immediate attention apart from those things of which she was already well aware before she left for Rengar and before many minutes have passed Teyla has brought Elizabeth up to speed on everything that has occurred during her absence. The discussion comes to an end, simply because there's nothing more left to say, but Elizabeth doesn't smile her thanks at Teyla and put the expected end to the conversation. Instead, she rests her chin on clasped fingers, and looks at Teyla consideringly across the desk.

"Elizabeth? Is there something more you wish to know?" Teyla says, tilting her head slightly in polite enquiry.

It's such a leading question, if Teyla only knew the half of it. And that really is the question right there: just how much does Teyla know? And does Elizabeth really want to open that particular can of worms right now - or ever? It's one thing to suspect that she knows precisely what's going on between her team mates, quite another to blunder in and disrupt what may be a delicate balance between four people who appear to work well together, regardless of what actually lies beneath the surface. No she can't broach the subject with Teyla. Not now. Not yet.

"I was just thinking of something," says Elizabeth, "but it doesn't matter right now."

"I... see," Teyla says, in a way that makes clear that she really doesn't. "Then, if there is nothing more, I should be going. I'm sure there is much that requires your immediate attention."

"You know there isn't, thanks to your efforts while I've been gone. But I do have a mission report to write." Elizabeth sighs.

They exchange good nights, Teyla disappears out the door, and then, before she quite realises what has happened, Elizabeth finds herself alone for the first time in two days.

It's strange to be alone with her thoughts, finally. Last night she desperately needed some time by herself, her own separate space in which to lick her wounds and regroup, and think through the best way of dealing with the delicate situation in which she'd suddenly found herself. Instead, she'd had to deal with the situation and keep going. She had dealt with it, of course, just as she always deals with every situation as it presents itself, but she can't help feeling that maybe she might have dealt with this one a little more smoothly if the time she has at her disposal right now had been available to her then.

Of course, she hasn't finished dealing with this particular situation yet. It isn't exactly something that's going to just go away; that's something that's been made abundantly clear to her. However, there are also certain things that have to be said, that _need_ to be said as soon as possible--most definitely before this day is over. There can be no room for misunderstanding here.

She should use the time she has now to plan her strategy, to prepare the right words and phrases, all the contingencies she can think of, so that she has everything ready in advance. That's what she should do. That's what any good, competent diplomat worth her salt would do.

Elizabeth pulls open her laptop and powers it up. She stares at the screen a long time.

* * *

"Hey."

It's quite some time since Teyla left. Elizabeth looks up from her computer to find John leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey," says Elizabeth.

"You winning at the moment?" he asks, nodding towards her laptop screen.

"Sadly, no," Elizabeth says with a grimace, and turns her laptop around to show the report she's been working on instead of the expected game of Solitaire.

"That's too bad," says John. He takes his weight off the doorframe and draws himself up to his full height. He walks the rest of the way to her desk but doesn't sit down. "You got a minute?" he asks. When he's staring down at her like that, Elizabeth is more than usually aware of how tall he is.

Elizabeth leans back in her chair and waves John into the chair opposite her, just in case he's failed to notice it, as he often does when he visits her office. "I wasn't making much headway with the mission report in any case," she says, sighing. The report template is as blank as when she first opened it. "Even after everything we've been through, everything we've seen since coming to this galaxy, it's a little hard to know where to start when it comes to an entire temple vanishing off the face of a planet as though it's never been there."

"You'll find the right words," John says as he sits down, with the easy confidence of someone who doesn't have to worry about actually carrying out a difficult task himself. But then, this shouldn't be all that difficult for her. She's always the one who always has the right words for the right occasion. That's her special talent, right? It's why she's here, just like John and his special touch with the Ancient equipment, and Rodney and just about anything that involves a practical application of science.

The report isn't the only thing she wishes she had the right words for right now.

"Maybe I should leave it until tomorrow," Elizabeth says.

"You could always hold off writing it a bit longer than that," John says casually. A bit too casually.

"Why? Do you have a lead?" Elizabeth sits up straighter in her chair. "Has Rodney figured out something about one of those artefacts we brought back?"

"Whoa, slow down. Nothing like that. I don't know if Rodney and Zelenka have gotten anywhere with the artefacts - I haven't been down to the lab since we got back," the expression on his face as he says this goes somehow blanker and more guarded than it was a second before," but I think we would have heard the shouts from here if they'd found anything."

"Yes, that's very true," Elizabeth is forced to agree.

John leans back in his chair, apparently relaxing again. He stares thoughtfully at the wall behind Elizabeth's head. "I was just thinking I might send Lorne's team to Rengar in the morning for a little walk in the woods."

"Oh?" Elizabeth raises her eyebrows.

He meets her eyes. "You know, make sure we send them off with all the right equipment: hiking boots, compasses, _machetes_, that sort of thing," he drawls.

Elizabeth's eyebrows rise higher. "_Machetes_."

John leans forward, all trace of relaxation suddenly gone. "We've got to go back and do a full recon of the site. _Something_ happened to that temple after we left it. We weren't imagining it. I stopped by the infirmary on the way up here. None of the tests Carson's run so far have turned up anything. But you already know that, don't you?"

"Carson advised me of the pathology results as soon as he had them, yes," Elizabeth admits. "As far as he can tell, everything we remember experiencing while we were down on that planet was real."

Elizabeth looks away, really wishing she'd phrased that differently. The only problem is that John also looks away at her words, and somehow their eyes end up meeting. And holding. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the office is so tense that you could cut it with a knife. She shouldn't be surprised. The tension hasn't really ever been far away since last night. It hasn't been forgotten or even set aside: it's simply been obscured beneath the surface while they dealt with other, more pressing tasks throughout the day. Now those other tasks are over with, though, or at least on hold. There's nothing more either of them can do about the mission to Rengar for the moment. Not about the vanishing temple, anyway.

Well, she's never been one to shy away when a clear opening presents itself.

"So, about that conversation we were going to have when we got back to Atlantis?" Elizabeth says. "Do you have a minute?"

It's not really a request, and John knows it for what it is. "Sure," he says, but his face gets that closed-off look that Elizabeth hates, the one she's grown used to not seeing--or at least not seeing directed at her - and he sits up, unnaturally straight in his chair.

They look at each other for a very long, very quiet moment.

"I-"

"Elizabeth-"

They stop, exchange rueful glances, and for a moment everything between them is almost like normal.

"You first," says Elizabeth, smiling at him encouragingly.

John scratches his chin, frowning. "What you walked in on..." he begins. And stops. Leans back and looks at the ceiling for a moment, then back at her, biting his lip. He looks so deeply uncomfortable that suddenly Elizabeth finds herself not wanting to follow through on the obvious strategy, the one that dictates she should pursue any opening likely to provide her with the upper hand in a negotiation--the one she should have automatically started putting into operation the instant John had appeared in the doorway.

"You know what? Maybe I'd better go first." She takes a deep breath, looks down at her hands, then up again--looks him straight in the eye. "Rodney's a civilian member of this expedition and, as such, his private life is none of my business. You, on the other hand, you're-"

"Not a civilian," John says, watching her carefully.

"Right," says Elizabeth. "But _I'm_ not military, so I don't consider the private life of anyone in Atlantis, military or not, to be any of my business." She's rehearsed variations of these words, if nothing else, over and over in her mind since they got back and distilled them down to this simple statement. They--she - shouldn't sound so awkward, so forced.

"That's... good to know." John doesn't relax in the slightest.

"However..."

John nods and smiles a tight little smile. "Somehow I thought there'd be a 'but'."

"However," Elizabeth repeats more firmly, "what my people do when they're on duty and, more importantly, when they're in the field, is very much my concern. I'm not going to point out to you that changes in relationships between individuals can sometimes have a detrimental effect on a team dynamic, or remind you, yet again, how vital the members of your team are, both collectively and individually, to Atlantis's continued well-being." And God, could she have been any more verbose and convoluted if she'd tried?

"I'm glad you're not saying that." John pauses. His hands clench at his sides. "So what exactly _are_ you saying, Elizabeth?"

"I'm _asking_ you if there's anything you think I need to be concerned about, anything that's changed that might possibly jeopardise your team and its effectiveness in a critical situation."

"No," John says immediately.

"You're completely sure about that?"

"Yes," John grates.

Elizabeth holds up an appeasing hand. "You know why I need to be sure--and why I need to be sure that you're sure, too."

"Nothing's changed." John's hands meet behind the back of his chair and he draws his body back against it. "The team dynamic is the same now as it has been for... quite a while." He pauses, looks her square in the eye, his expression serious, but not hostile. It's as close as he'll get to opening up to her. "Elizabeth, _nothing_'s changed. Everything's just the same as it was two days ago. You get that, right? Nothing's changed. Nothing _has_ to change." He pauses. Again. "_I_ don't want things - _any_thing--to change. I want us all to be okay." He smiles then. John Sheppard has a stock of smiles almost as extensive as Elizabeth's own. This one is not the familiar mocking smirk, nor the vanishingly rare smile of genuine surprise, but a wry little self-aware grin that is nonetheless inviting in its sudden warmth.

She wants to believe him. She wants things to be the way they were, too. She opens her mouth to reply.

And that's when Rodney barges into the office.

"I want to say that I just can't believe these people, but honestly? I don't think anything they could say or do would remotely surprise me at this point--except if by some fluke it happened to turn out to contain a grain of truth!" Rodney's jaw is tense with anger as he strides across to stand in front of Elizabeth's desk, and his shoulders are so stiff that he looks like he's ready to slug someone.

"I take it you're not talking about anyone down in the labs?" Elizabeth says cautiously.

"Of course not," Rodney says, letting out a long, unhappy breath. "It's those damned aliens."

"You mean the Rengarians?" John asks.

"What other aliens- and no, don't answer that! Of _course_ the Rengarians."

"What seems to be the problem?" Elizabeth says, but of course the question is only for form's sake. She knows what Rodney's going to say.

"Surprise, surprise, none of the artefacts we brought back with us will work. Not a single one of them. Not even the ones that are clearly designed to interface with Ancient consoles," Rodney says bitterly.

"You've tried getting a number of different people with the gene to touch them?" Elizabeth queries.

"Of course." Rodney doesn't quite roll his eyes. "But just to make completely sure, I'll need to take Colonel Magic Fingers here down to the lab to test them one last time before we-"

John makes a noise deep in his throat. The speaking look he directs at Rodney is worth several entire sentences.

Rodney returns the look, impatient at the interruption for a second, but then his eyes go very wide, and then he goes still. And then: "Gene! Magic _gene_, I meant! You knew what I meant, didn't you, Elizabeth?"

"Of course, Rodney." Elizabeth nods in apparent seriousness, but she lets a certain degree of amusement show in her eyes and in the upward tilt of her mouth. John's ears are pink.

"Um, yes, well, if you're all done here, _right now_ might be a good time, Colonel. The night isn't getting any younger."

Rodney's suddenly looking very ready to be gone, and it occurs to Elizabeth that this is hardly the first time that something like this has happened. They don't meet late in the evening all that often, she and John, but when they do it's almost always after a mission gone wrong, and Rodney almost always drops by "by chance" toward the end of the meeting. Somehow, the two of them always end up going off together afterwards, whether because John has promised to touch this or that Ancient device in the lab, or Rodney has agreed to check those circuits in Jumper Three and he doesn't have all night, or something somewhere else entirely. It doesn't really matter what it is; there's always something that takes them away together.

It's been there for her to see, all the time, right in front of her, right there, the strength of their alliance.

And that thought, more than any other, brings her crashing back to Earth--well, Atlantis--back down to reality, and out of the false camaraderie that the mystery of the Rengarians keeps throwing them into.

It doesn't matter how well they all pull together in the course of _a_ day, at the end of the day they'll always be two plus one, whether the three of them are in the same room or not. If there's one thing Elizabeth's learned since they went to Rengar, it's that. John and Rodney may always be a double act, in every way, but she stands alone; she has to. She can't ever forget that.

"Elizabeth? Are we all done here for now?" John says. He's watching her carefully.

Elizabeth waves a hand. "Please. Don't let me hold you up. It's late, and we all need to get to bed before sunrise. And yes, Rodney, that _is_ an order." She knows him too well when he gets in this sort of mood.

As they move off towards the door, already arguing about something or other to do with the testing procedure, she finds herself wondering whose bed they'll end up in afterwards, and sincerely wishing that the mental image wasn't so very clear in her mind.

"So, we're okay, then?" John says, pausing in the doorway. "Everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine," says Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's been a diplomat a long time. The smile that comes to her face is as automatic as breathing.


End file.
